


My Pretty Princess

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Forced Feminization, M/M, Use of the C Word, rapist pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8045962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dorian is captured by the Venatori. Their leader take a particular- and peculiar- interest in him.





	My Pretty Princess

The Emerald Graves is one of those places which lives up to its name: beautiful and deadly, rich and haunted.   
  
They've set themselves up in one of the abandoned mansions, one which still has a few luxuries for them to enjoy while they wait for their marching orders. The Red Templars might have control here, but that doesn't mean they don't require monitoring by more capable minds.   
  
And simply because they are "monitoring" doesn't mean he can't have some fun with a pretty traitor.   
  
The man guarding him, Sextus, nods politely as he approaches the door. The lacing on his trousers is undone.  
  
"Have the men all had their fun?" he asks.   
  
"Yes. Some more than once," Sextus reports.   
  
"Good." Perhaps he would be less stubborn, now. Captives generally were, once they realized what his favor spared them from.   
  
When he enters the door, however, Dorian raises his head enough to glare daggers at him via the reflection in the mirror, as best he can, at least. One eye is swollen shut, and the wig he was wearing had been knocked askew, spilling honey-blond locks of hair into his face.   
  
"Good afternoon, my dear," he says.   
  
Dorian growls from behind his gag in response. Intolerable. He sends out lightning and holds it on Dorian's form for a time, quite enjoying the way he tries to thrash.   
  
When he lets up some of the hair on the wig has charred and is smoking, and Dorian's thrown one of his shoulders out of joint.   
  
He leans against the vanity they've secured Dorian to, observing. One of his men, in a fit of humor, has decorated Dorian's gag with lipstick, painting a blood-red mouth on it. The color's smeared a bit, since.   
  
He turns his attention to more important parts of Dorian's anatomy. He flips up the skirts of the dress they've put him in, the fanciest ball gown that had been left behind when the owners ran. Beneath them is the burn mark he place on the inside of Dorian's right thigh. When he'd been captured there had been a hickey there, an impression of inhumanly large teeth. Rumor has it that Adaar and the other Qunari both pass Dorian between them, and that Dorian is quite willing to be passed, enthusiastic even. No matter how much of it is true, the mark had to go- there is no place for it on Laius' property.   
  
The burn mark is partially obscured by the pink-striped come leaking out of Dorian's ass.   
  
"You're so wet, my dear." He shoves three fingers in. The wet spasm his torn entrance makes is one of the most enticing things he's ever felt, and the whimper Dorian makes is one of the sweetest things he's ever heard.  
  
He not glaring anymore. His eyes are shut tight.   
  
"Your cunt is dripping with how badly you need me," he continued. He pulls out his fingers and wipes them on Dorian's face, on the now-smooth skin just below his nose. Dorian shudders and tries to turn away from the touch.   
  
"Don't you worry, darling," Laius says. "I know just how to take care of you."  
  
He fumbled with his trousers for a moment, and then slides home. Dorian's face crumbles, and he tries screaming again, even though he must know by the now that no help is coming and Laius enjoys the sound.

Dorian's ass is no longer tight. It's actually quite loose, the ring of muscle at his entrance torn so badly that it can't contract around his cock at all. Still, he keeps at it for a few strokes for the sounds it provokes, and then, sheathed all the way he bends down to whisper in Dorian's ear.   
  
"You know how much easier this would be, if you would agree to be mine."  
  
Dorian whimpers a little.   
  
"The lady of the house wouldn't be required to raise her skirts for every bored soldier. She would simply be required to warm her lord's bed."  
  
He presses two fingers in along his cock, and yes, that feels better, especially with the way it makes Dorian scream against the gag.   
  
"Do you really want to be a common serving girl? I can arrange that, you know. Make you scrub the place from top to bottom, have you beaten for the tiniest mistake, tell my men they can bend you over whenever they feel like it. Is that what you want?"  
  
Miraculously, Dorian shakes his head.   
  
"So you'd like to be my bride, then?" he asks.   
  
Even more miraculously, Dorian nods.   
  
Well then.   
  
He pulls out, and undoes the gag and the bindings that are keeping Dorian on the vanity. Dorian slides to the floor almost immediately, looking up at him through the charred remains of the wig with fear in his eyes.   
  
"I'm going to ask you to prove it, my dear," he says. "Now, suck me off. If I feel teeth, I'll send you to the barracks in a servant's shift and nothing else."  
  
There's still a mixture of blood and semen on his cock from Dorian's hole. He half-expects Dorian to turn up his nose, but he does it, just barely managing to kneel upright enough to get into position to wrap his lips around him.   
  
Laius tries to grab him by the hair, and pulls the wig off instead. Fine then. He grabs Dorian by his natural hair and holds him with his nose pressed against his balls, listening to the sounds of him gagging.   
  
He lets him up for air, and then drags him back down again, and again. He comes over his face.   
  
"Good girl," he says, pleasantly surprised.   
  
Dorian cringes.   
  
"Get on the bed, my dear."  
  
Dorian complies, though not easily. He'd been hamstrung when he was captured, and they only healed enough of the damage to stop the bleeding. His hands are still tied together, and his shoulder is still out of joint, which doesn't help either.   
  
He screams when Laius turns him on his back, putting pressure on his wrenched shoulder.   
  
"Be a good girl for me, and I'll untie your arms next."  
  
Dorian nods, and screws his eyes up tightly. He flinches when Laius puts a hand beneath his skirts, and again when he begins to rub at his cock.  
  
"Be a good girl for me, and come," he coos, and Dorian's face screws up even tighter.   
  
He manages to do it, though. Dorian gets hard, and then damp, and then he comes, tears streaming down his face, blood trickling from his mouth where he's bitten through his lip.   
  
Laius wonders if he thought of his oxmen, and then suppresses his annoyance for later. He remembers instead an elven slave his mentor once had. He'd taken the boy when it was freshly weaned from its mother and trained it to walk about on all fours, to bark on command and whine when it needed food or to take a piss. He gave it no clothes and made it sleep in the kennel with the other mongrels. By the time Laius' apprenticeship had concluded the whelp had been fully grown and quite convinced it was a dog, and that good dogs got to suck cock as a special treat.   
  
He wonders if he can break Dorian like that. Turn him into an empty-headed lady with no thoughts in her head save pleasing her husband. If one day he might talk about knocking her up, and she wouldn't even remember that it wasn't possible. It'll be fun to try, at least.   
  
He unties Dorian's hands, and coats his fingers in health poultice before slipping them back inside. Dorian screams again, louder without the gag, but does not try to stop him. It's not long before Laius can feel his entrance heal and start to tighten.   
  
He fucks him again, properly. Dorian keeps his eyes open this time, his expression glassy but present. One of his hands tentatively comes to rest on Laius' hip, and oh, he likes that. Participation.  
  
Perhaps when he next pays Dorian a visit he'll have him ride him in his dress. Maybe make him put on some of the makeup he could hear rattling around in the vanity.   
  
He leaves Dorian unbound. He won't pose much of a threat with a hamstrung leg and a wrenched shoulder.  
  
Or so he thinks. By the time he discovers his dagger missing from the sheath on his hip an hour later, Sextus has already been gutted, and Dorian is long gone.


End file.
